


Rum And Spirits

by Sunny_Moonbeam



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-04-07 19:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19091911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunny_Moonbeam/pseuds/Sunny_Moonbeam
Summary: Is that a lame Hamlet joke?YesIs that a line referencing Sherlock?Ya bet it is!Do I know what I’m doing?Absolutely not!Hotel? Trivago





	1. Initiation

Curt opened his eyes. Bad idea. Hundreds of thousands of voices ran through his head. Words lost and unintelligible to his tired mind as he pushed through them to find his own; god dammit, he couldn’t wait to move out of the shithole he called home. He walked through the graveyard of boxes and empty spaces on the walls of his apartment and tried to find any food not packed away and ended up pouring himself a bowl of the same stale cereal he’d been eating for the last 3 meals and ate it dry, he was out of milk. It tasted like a mixture of chalk and cardboard, but then again, what didn’t taste like chalk and cardboard these days. The background noise in his head was washing over him like a waterfall now, streams of mixed words and languages cascading in his brain, drowning his only grasp on which of the screams were his. He grabbed a beer, the only thing left in his fridge, and drank it quickly. 

 

“Oh great,” he thought to himself, “I’m crazy and a day drinker! Wonderful!”

 

He was nearly done packing his blankets into the final box when the moving van came and two men started carrying his things out of the living room. It took around an hour, most of which Curt spent trying to calm his breathing and avoid the movers, but finally he was in his car, head clearing for the first time in weeks. The worst part of moving was over, and Curt couldn’t have been more grateful to drive in absolute silence.

 

Curt had always loved long car rides. No one could reach him, he was surrounded by the beautiful nothingness of the countryside, constantly in motion, never still; swooping hills and even lower aspirations for the future. Human life seemed to melt off his bones as he drove further away from the town he had lived in practically all his life. 

 

It only took about 4 and a half hours for them to reach the hopelessly, practically ancient town of York, Pennsylvenia. This time, of course, included restroom breaks, Curt buying a water bottle or a lame souvenir to feel more okay with leaving the store empty handed, only to be met with the suffocating dread of talking to the cashier. 

 

Curt stumbled into the elevator of the new building after what felt like decades and grabbed his keys from his pocket, feeling the wave of unaccompanied and unwanted thoughts seep into the corners of his brain. Less than before, he thought, punching the 3rd floor button on the elevator, praying for the music to dull out the sounds in his head.

 

Really, it was the normal stuff, mostly ear splitting screams. A couple clearer voices begging for their families, nothing Curt couldn’t deal with. Mostly though, it was the begging for help that got to him. Little girls begging for their mothers, people eternally bound to where they stood, begging for any relief from the soul crushing loneliness.  That’s what hurt Curt. The fact that he was unable to help anyone. The fact that he was useless against the inevitable.

 

He tipped the movers and sent them on their way, happy to have some sort of solitude, however questionable the solitude may be. Curt walked around the new apartment, familiarizing himself with the layout. 

 

“Okay, here we go,” Curt sighed to himself, “Come on out! If there’s anyone else living here now’s the time to introduce yourself. Come on, don’t be shy; it’s just me,” he walked into one of the rooms “just, good old Curt here,” Curt threw himself down on his new bed, “Thank god. You know, one death just isn’t gonna cut it if I find out any of you live here.”

 

No answer. Curt let out a deep sigh and buried himself in his pillows, smelling the dust from the moving van and hearing nothing but himself for the first time in months.

 

He closed his eyes and drifted into an uneasy, yet silent and dreamless sleep. He didn’t see, or sense the presence that slowly moved out of the dark corner of his room. A breath was released, one whose owner hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Finally this new person, whoever he was, had fallen asleep.


	2. Enter GHOST

Owen has been dead since 1957.

 

Really, being dead wasn’t too bad. Owen could talk to himself all day if he wanted to, which he more than often did, and no one was ever there to complain. Originally, of course, he hated it. The weight of death was different than life, and it took some adjusting for Owen to really feel comfortable with the whole being dead thing. 

 

Time was another story on its own. Having to come to terms with the fact that you’re frozen forever, never moving forward is not as easy as people think, or fiction writers make it look like; you’re stuck in one form, one moment for all eternity as everything around you moves on and time loses its meaning all together, and after a while, you simply don’t care. 

 

Owen remembers when his cat died of old age, some 7 years after her owner, and it had seemed only a few weeks or months had passed for him. He mainly sensed the passage of time through the aging and deaths of the people he saw; like that couple who lived in the house before it was demolished. They grew old together and… died together? Owen’s not entirely sure. 

 

And then the apartment complex was built. Owen moved around the apartment he was stuck in, wondering what it would be like to roam freely, like some ghosts could. Where would he go? What would he even see? The world had moved on to the point he wouldn’t be able to recognize it. That was his curse: late, by every sense of the word.

 

He was used to the death around him. Everyone came and went with the passage of time. Some details were different, like the conditions under which they came and left; but the fundamental base of it remained the same: people lived, and died. Some were mourned for a while, but eventually everyone moved on. Everyone except Owen. He seemed stuck, unable to move past a single moment. And the loneliness an empty apartment brought with itself never really help.

 

So was he surprised when he heard furniture being moved inside the apartment? Of course! Was he shocked to see a young man, no older than what he was when he died, walked and looked around? Damn straight he was! To say Owen was… mesmerized by the man he saw standing before him was an understatement. Maybe that’s why he didn’t say anything when the stranger -he said his name was Curt- asked if someone else was in the house.

 

What did he mean by that anyway? Owen had no idea. Humans can’t hear ghosts! Or else the world would be a larger shithole than it already is. Just imagine the ghost of some Nazi trying to convince a human to take over the world in their name; or… a ghost manipulating someone into destroying other things around them, whatever they may be, or… you get the idea. 

 

Owen sighed, there was a reason humans couldn’t hear ghosts; just like there was a reason ghosts couldn’t go corporeal! 

 

Curt shifted in his sleep, now facing him. Owen hadn’t realized that he’d been standing there in the dark room, looking at Curt mindlessly. He looked peaceful in his sleep, Owen noticed. Eyes shut so tightly it gave you the impression that he was laughing in his sleep.

 

His string of thought was broken by a shrill scream cutting through the air like a sharp knife. It took Owen less than a few seconds to realize the source of the scream was the sleeping form in front of him, now shaking and shivering as his night terrors, whatever they were, surrounded and haunted his mind. The ghost stood there, next to the bed as he twisted and turned as if he were burning. He wished and hoped and prayed for it to end, knowing there was nothing else he could do to soothe and comfort the troubled man before him. 

Soon enough, however, Curt settled back into his bed, staring up at the ceiling for what Owen knew must have been hours. Dawn broke and Curt got up, stumbling his way to the kitchen. 

Owen followed him outside, puzzledly staring at the enigma of a man walking in front of him. Was he okay? Clearly not, what was going on with him?

 

He could see the dark circles under Curt’s bloodshot eyes, indicating many sleepless nights similar to the one he had witnessed merely minutes ago, tired and fallen posture, hands rubbing tired eyes and feet dragging themselves on the wooden floor. His hair was still messy and Owen saw the places where his pillow had left its imprints. 

 

He watched Curt walk around his kitchen, eyes still half closed. He got his coffee beans out of one of his moving boxes and dragged his coffee machine from the other room, putting it on his counter 

 

“I have to move and deal with moving?” He whined to the seemingly empty house “what’s next? Cleaning?” he sighed heavily and plugged his coffee machine to the outlet. He put the beans in the coffee grinder and pressed the button, leaning his head on the cabinets before putting a kettle full of water on the stove.

 

He moved around and emptied some boxes while he waited for his coffee to get ready. He dragged a plain couch to the middle of the living room and collapsed on it, picking up a book from one of the boxes next to him. Owen caught the title: To Kill A Mockingbird. 

 

The sight of the book in Curt’s hands made him remember the last time he’d held one in his own; the last time he’d held anything in his hands really. The sight reminded him that he hadn’t read a book in almost 60 years. The thought nearly brought him to his knees. 60 years… and he hasn’t read a single book! The thought made him gasp. 

 

“FUCKING HELL!” Curt shouted “Just once! Universe! Just once let me have my peace!” 

 

“What?” Owen wondered loudly.

 

“You heard me!” Curt threw his book somewhere on the couch and got up “I suppose introductions are in order? Mr. Ghost?”

 

“Wait… you can… hear me?” Owen’s shock was evident in his voice; there’s a first. What’s next? Space travel? People on the moon?

 

“Of course I can hear you! I can hear all of you. Every last one! You’re quite the catch, I must admit; we’ve been here, what? A full day? And you still haven’t asked me to talk to your dead somethin-or-other or make sure you’re known for all of history.” 

 

Curt walked back into the kitchen and grabbed his now full coffee cup. Walking back out and searching one of the boxes on the floor, he continued “So?”

 

“So what?” Owen replied softly, the shock still washing over him.

 

“So I believe you owe me an introduction at least.” He pulled an amber bottle out of the box “there she is!” Opening the bottle, he poured a good measure of the golden liquid into his steaming cup. He turned and faced Owen’s general vicinity, though a few feet off, “is there a problem?”

 

“I don’t know, should there be?” Owen retorted 

 

“I doubt there’s a problem with a beautiful bottle of Irish Whiskey!” Curt answered, taking a sip of his coffee.

 

“And drinking it at-“ Owen looked around for a clock “what time is it anyway?” 

 

“Listen ghosty, I don’t care if you’re nicer and less freaky franky fucky than the general population of the ghosts I meet; but my business is my business! Stay out of it!” 

 

Owen hesitated. Who the hell does this asshole think he is? 

 

“Fine!” He announced eventually “can I please pick up your book? You probably won’t need it for awhile anyway… considering you’re busy with… other… things”

 

“Just say day drinking! It’s easier and I won’t have to deal with your snarky attitude!” He waited for a response. It never came “and yes, you can pick up my books. I don’t know why you need to ask, but this is your place too so…” he took another sip.

 

Owen ran his hands over the book. If he had eyes, he was sure they’d be blurry right now! 

 

“We can’t touch anything without a human’s permission. Our bodies will just go through stuff.” 

 

“Oh.” Curt’s face softened for a moment, looking to his book, which was now seemingly moving on it’s own, with something just short of a convincing annoyance on his face.  

 

Owen picked up the book and walked over to his couch, trying to sit on it and falling through, dropping the book to the floor.

 

“God damn it, can I sit on your sofa? I haven’t sat down in, let’s see, fifty-something years? My legs would really appreciate it.”

 

“Oh. Um, sure, you can sit there,” Curt shook himself out of his trance. He put his cup on the floor and picked up To Kill A Mockingbird, holding it out; around 5 feet away from where Owen actually was.

 

He cleared his throat, “I’m actually over here.”

 

“Where?” Curt asked, moving farther to the left of Owen, looking around for any sort of movement.

 

“Over- oh god damn it,” he grabbed Curt’s wrist, pulling it towards himself, “Over here.” He grabbed the book and flipped open to the first page, he heard Curt’s voice echo around the house “What the Fuck!?” 

 

“What?”

 

“You just… you…” he seemed speechless.

 

It took only a few seconds for Owen to register what had happened “I didn’t know I could do that. How… how did I do that.” Shock evident in his own voice now.

 

“That felt so weird, Fuck.”

 

“I’m going to do it again, Jesus, what was that, okay don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.” He mumbled to himself more than Curt.

 

Owen moved to touch his shoulder, hesitating for a second before reaching forward; his hand brushed over Curt’s shoulder blade, causing him to jump “okay, NO!” 

 

“What?” Owen was even more confused than before.

 

“I said, no!,” Curt sat back down on the couch, rubbing his eyes, “How did you even do that?”

 

“I don’t know.” Owen mumbled, putting his hands in his lap.  

 

“Whatever,” Curt shrugged “‘I’m gonna go back to sleep.”

 

“You just woke up!” Owen protested 

 

“So? I’m tired!” Curt defended himself, getting off the couch, he put his now empty cup on the kitchen counter, lugging himself to his bedroom. 

Owen sat down, letting his unanswered questions swallow him whole. What was going on with Curt? Why was he the only one he was able to touch, and how the hell could he hear him? 

Mostly though, Owen was relieved. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in so long, he’d forgotten he even missed it. And so what if the only person he could talk to was… well… Curt! He had to admit, he missed reading, missed touching things, missed the feeling of being human. Being a ghost wasn’t exactly a luxurious state of… existing. Maybe Curt wouldn’t be too bad of a roommate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that a lame Hamlet joke?   
> Yes  
> Is that a line referencing Sherlock?   
> Ya bet it is!  
> Do I know what I’m doing?   
> Absolutely not!  
> Hotel? Trivago
> 
>  


	3. Getting In The Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a number of memorable turns, changed POVs mid-writing and was rewritten 2? 3? Times and it is finally done! Ikr? Beats me!

“You’ve never read Harry Potter?”

 

“No Curt, I’ve been a little preoccupied lately with, you know, being dead.” 

 

“Oh my god-“ 

 

“Jesus Curt, I’m sure that not everyone’s read it anyways!”

 

“And that’s where you’re wrong kiddo!”

 

“I’m older-“ he was cut off by Curt who very clearly wasn’t listening.

 

“That’s it, put your book down, we are reading them right now. Being dead is no excuse.”

 

Curt walked to his little bookshelf in the corner of the room, pulling out his two copies of the Sorcerer's Stone and tossing one towards Owen’s armchair, watching as it stopped in midair. He settled onto the couch with his own.

 

It had been almost two weeks since Curt had moved into his new apartment and finally, he felt like he was settling in. His stuff was unpacked and placed where it was supposed to go, reorganizing some of it in the process. Owen helped him move his furniture- making sure his opinions on how tasteless Curt was were heard- and oddly enough, he had started working again. 

 

The reason behind that was mostly Owen, really. Had he not decided to pick up a pen two days after Curt’s arrival, he’d still be sleeping on a shitty mattress with no intentions of ever getting up. 

 

Owen had asked for a pen and some paper because he couldn’t pick things up without Curt allowing it and started writing so frantically he tore the paper by accident. 

 

This process of writing went on for the better part of two weeks. Of course he still functioned, as much as a ghost would. But imagine the sound of pen on paper not stopping for a good 5 days, Curt had to be honest, it made him a little worried. It makes sense to get worried! Even if he didn’t get tired cause he’s dead! 

 

Anyways, being the dutiful citizen he was, he approached him “hey buddy”, He got his attention “whatcha doin’?”

 

“I’m drafting this book I’ve been… constructing for a while.” 

 

“Have you been writing a book for 58 years?” Curt asked him, finding a slight amusement in Owen’s sharp concentration. 

 

“Yes.” Admittedly, he adores the bravery in which Owen intertwined his voice. 

 

“That’s amazing Owen, George R. R. Martin could learn a thing or two from you. I think you guys would be fast friends.” He laughed out loud. The joke is by no means funny but Curt had missed laughing, it had been far too long. 

 

“Um… thanks?” His tone is hesitant “I don’t know who you’re talking about but thanks.”

 

“Oh yeah not everyone knows him, he’s the writer of the Game of Thrones books!” Curt tells him. Owen stays silent “you know… Game of Thrones! The most famous TV Show of all time? It has dragons and ice zombies and… people in it? Maybe a little bit like Harry Potter?” 

 

To be completely honest, Curt was desperate, there’s no way any sane person compares Harry Potter and Game of Thrones as an explanation of either but Owen’s a fucking ghost, they’ve far surpassed the realm of logic, or so Curt reasoned.

 

But nothing, no logic on his part, could prepare him for Owen not knowing what Harry Potter was. So here they were, Owen with Curt’s second copy of Sorcerer’s Stone that his mom gave him to make friends, Curt with the same copy he’s read 7 times.

“Want some tea?” He asked, breaking the silence.

 

“Curt…” 

 

“What? You prefer whiskey?”

 

“ _ Tea _ , Curt? Exactly how am I supposed to drink tea?”

 

“With your… oh okay,” Curt got up to make himself some, “sorry Ghosty, sometimes I forget you’re a ghosty. You just seem so -how do I say this- human” 

 

“Thank you?,” he paused, flipping to the next page, “I really miss eating though, you know? You realize how many things you love when you die. I loved tea.” He got quiet, fingers drumming on the pages in front of him, “I do like this book though, I think the beginning is interesting, at least. I’ve never really read anything like it.”

 

“Owen,” Curt said, returning to the couch as he waited for his water to boil, “How much do I have to catch you up on, like, when did you die?” 

 

“1957.” He heard Owen move, the book floated from the armchair to the couch where he was sitting. Owen settled down on the other side of the couch, book still in the air, he flipped the page. “I was running I think, it gets a little blurry sometimes. I had been running for most of my life anyways, it’s hard to tell which ones were whi-” his voice was low, talking almost to himself, “I’m sorry, you didn’t ask for my life story.” He laughed half-heartedly, turning the page again.

 

“Just to be perfectly clear you weren’t a racist or like, a nazi or anything right? Cause like, it was the 1950s, and I’m not at all okay with any of that.”

 

“No Curt I’m Jewish, or at least I was.”

 

“Oh… okay” they fell into a rather comfortable silence before Curt spoke again “I had a Jewish friend once.”

 

Owen marked a page before putting down his book “Oh really? What was his name?”

 

“Her; her name was Barb.”

 

“That’s a nice name.”

 

“Yeah… um she was nice.”

 

Owen picked up the book, flipping to the page he had marked “Okay.” 

 

“Yeah.” Curt ran through all the ways this conversation could go, it was extremely limited. He could ask him about his death, but they had basically moved on from that. He could mention something about Barb, so it didn’t seem like he brought her up for no reason. But he saw Owen flip to the next page in his book, it was too late to talk about her anymore, the pause had been stretched out for too long. Curt wasn’t even sure why he brought her up in the first place, he’d met plenty of Jewish people, she just stood out to him somehow. But Owen had moved on, already flipping to the next page of his book, Curt running through the list of ways he could remove the awkward silence that filled the room, ways to stop suffocating on the weight that had made the living room its home. 

  
  


He heard the sound of the water boiling, grateful to have found a reason to excuse himself, he got up from the couch.

 

“That’s my tea.”

 

Walking into his kitchen and getting a mug from the dishwasher and a teabag from its box, Curt poured the water, dropping and mixing around the tea bag; he grabbed his phone, scrolling through it absentmindedly, stretching through every moment. He took a sip of his drink, hearing Owen flip the page again.

 

“What’s your book about?” Curt whispered from the kitchen, so quietly, as if seeing how quiet he could make his voice, like he was hesitant to say anything at all.

 

“What?”

 

“What’s your book about?” He repeated himself, louder this time, moving back to the couch; sitting on the arm, his legs hanging off the side.

 

“Oh. People living in the holocaust. Except they’re all the same people. Resurrected that is. Um, they’re on different sides of the war, I haven’t quite decided on a few of them, but most of their stories are complete.” Owen put his book down on the table, getting more sure of himself, “Basically, all their stories are connected somehow, but you don’t realize till pretty far through, and all of the sudden you see how each of their stories kind of impact each other. And then at the end they all die and meet death, who tells them they are all the same person. They all hurt each other, but they were really themselves.”

 

“Woah. Owen that’s- that’s really good.”

 

“Um, thank you.”

 

He took a sip of his tea, allowing the silence to fall over them again.

 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, making Curt jump. He pulled his phone out of his pocket hurriedly as put his drink on the coffee table.

 

“Oh shit. It’s today, oh shit oh shit.”

 

He went to his room, looking for his nice shirt in the mess of clothes.

 

“What’s going on?” Owen’s voice asked him from a close distance, he was in the room.

 

“I have a date.” Curt pulled his shirt on, buttoning it quickly, “My friend set it up,” He tucked in his shirt, “I normally hate these things, but he’s really cute.” 

 

“In public?”

 

“What?”

 

“A date with a guy? In public?” Owen sounded lost, a sense of realization setting over Curt.

 

“Right, 1950s. Listen, I know it wasn’t super accepted when you were alive but this is my apartment and you’re just going to have to deal with the fact that I’m ga-”

 

“No Curt. I’m- I like guys too. I just didn’t know that was okay.”

 

“Oh. Good.” Curt felt himself losing his balance, his vision going blurry for a second, before resurfacing. “Shit I’m going to be late.”

 

Curt rushed into the elevator, head aching like he had been awake for 3 days straight, legs swaying under him by the time he made it to his car. Truth be told, he was more than a little nervous, and these things were nothing new to him. He drove to the restaurant, shaking his head to try and exterminate his thoughts before taking one last breath and stepping inside.

 

It was a small place, but immediately when he entered he found himself overwhelmed by the spiritual activity, hearing a particularly loud sets of ghosts in the back corner. He found the table where Josh had said they were going to meet and sat down, fumbling with the menu. It had been too long since he’d last done this.

 

“Excuse me, Curt?” he was interrupted by a loud voice; ear-piercing, he felt it ringing in his head, despite having its source standing in front of him. He closed his eyes and breathed for a few seconds, regaining his stability  before looking up and taking the man before him in. 

His jawline was set and he had bright blue eyes that made Curt somewhat breathless, though that might’ve been the anxiety. He looked nervous, and Curt had to admit, it made him feel more relaxed. He was relatively toned, in a way that would have caught Curt’s eye under different circumstances; he took the man in, Curt finding himself saying a silent thank you to Tatiana.

 

“Yeah it’s me, hi Josh.” Curt stood up to hug him before sitting back down, feeling his head spin from standing up to quickly, vision turning black.

 

“I’m so happy to finally meet you! Tatiana talks about you all the time, you’re much prettier in person.”

 

Curt felt his face flush,, “Oh- oh um yeah she’s mentioned you a couple times, and I have to say you’re not too bad yourself.” He laughed lightly. 

 

“Thank you, I just got done at work so I’m super hungry. How are you? I heard you just moved here?”

 

“I’m doing okay, moving was difficult but I’m almost done. Your town is beautiful by the way.” Curt drummed his fingers under the table, hands shaking so bad he could hardly feel them. He had gotten pretty good at controlling his nerves, but he was lightheaded and could feel himself losing his grip on reality, head swimming with distinct voices, which certainly wasn’t helping. 

 

“Why’d you move?”

 

“Oh, you know… small town, I wanted to get out, my publisher says I need to write another book, and there’s no inspiration in a small town in Maine.” The ghosts were louder now, each of their harsh voices thundering, booming into Curt’s mind, “I got fired from my job and things were just happening, it was just the right time.” He could barely hear himself, the voices around him getting closer by the second, shouting for any kind of help, telling him it was his fault. They were so loud. “But I couldn’t stay there all my life anywa-“

 

Curt’s stomach dropped, and he saw black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to spoil,  
> But next chapter is the introduction of a character Max and I (and perhaps some others) like to call: BDE Radiator!


	4. It Ghost Without Saying...

Waking up on the ground was not something Curt normally expected out of a first date, but funnily enough this wasn’t even in the top three worst dates he had been on. Although it was the only one where he’d ended up in the back of an ambulance.

 

He wasn’t too sure of what had happened. He knew everything was loud in the restaurant, and everything was quiet out here. He knew that the people rushing around him, the man asking him if he was okay, the sirens, the general commotion, were nothing compared to what he had just experienced. He felt himself nod along to the questions the man was asking, taking a few deep breaths to clear his head. 

 

Maybe an hour, a dozen unnecessary tests, and a few phone calls later, he was ready to leave. The ghosts in the hospital were just as plentiful as the ones in the restaurant, although much quieter, and he was dying to hear the at least partial silence of his apartment. The doctors had concluded that nothing seemed to be wrong and he had made up a half assed answer about being stressed, he just wanted to try and hail a taxi and get home. 

 

“I’m okay, really. Can I go now?” he asked for what felt like the hundredth time that night. He was sitting down on a bed in an examination room, somewhere deep inside the maze that was the hospital he was currently imprisoned at. The doctor raised his head from the file he was filling out and gave him an exasperated glance; he’d been stuck with Curt in this room for a good 3 or 4 hours, most of which was spent alone. Curt almost felt sorry for him.

 

“It might be better for you to stay overnight. Standard procedure, and also-”

 

The door opened, a nurse stepping in, Tatiana standing right behind her, a nonchalant look on her face.

 

“Doctor Howard, there’s a woman here for Mr. Mega. She’s waiting in the-” she turned around, hand raised in the general direction of the waiting room, when she came face to face with Tatiana; a small yelp escaped her throat as she held the door handle with one hand and clutched her chest with the other.  “Allah help me! How long have you been standing there?”    
  


“I’m here to drive my friend home.” Tatiana paid no attention to the nurse, her attention focused on the man sitting behind the small desk.

 

“I’m afraid he might have to-” 

 

“Does he have any major -- or minor for that matter -- injures?” Tatiana asked, a single brow raised at the doctor. The nurse standing next to her still hadn’t caught her breath.

 

“No, but-” 

 

“A concussion?’ 

 

“No, he’s fine!” 

 

“Then there’s no need for you to keep him here.” she took a single step forward, her tall figure looming over the shorter man.

 

“But there’s protocol-”    
  


“Come on, Curt.” she finally turned her attention towards Curt, who jumped off the bed quickly and flashed a smile at Dr. Howard.

 

 “Thanks Doc!” 

 

“Yeah, come on.” she walked out, not waiting for Curt as she walked down the hallway. Stopping in her tracks as if she’d forgotten something, she turned around. “Sorry for the fright Shireen!” 

 

Curt used the delay to catch up to her. They walked in silence, Tatiana giving a relaxed salute to the girl at the front desk before opening the door for Curt, pointing out her car. They climbed inside, Tatiana taking off her leather jacket and throwing it in the backseat, placing her elbows on the steering wheel, and putting her head in her hands. 

 

She shook her head slowly after a few minutes had passed; Curt filled the few minutes with looking outside the window, taking in the almost completely empty parking lot, looking around Tati’s car, noticing small details such as the pile of CDs, a purple hair band thrown over the dashboard, the new flavor of gum she had, a new key-chain, most probably a gift, as Tati wouldn’t waste money on such insignificant things. If Curt had to guess, he would say it was from her father; a small souvenir he brought from one of the many international trips he took every year. Don’t get him wrong, the wooden elephant at the bottom of the key-chain was beautiful and complimented the golden key-ring, clearly hand carved and possibly expensive. Still, Curt knew that Tati preferred the real deal over a cute elephant.  

 

“I’m so sorry, Curt.” she started, her voice breaking the silence like a piece of glass, making Curt jump a little. “I didn’t know there were going to be that many ghosts there or I would’ve suggested somewhere else.” 

“It’s okay! I should’ve known better than to--” he cut himself off before he gave away anything about Owen. He knew how Tatiana felt about the… other ghosts he’d befriended and well… he didn’t need her overprotective prejudgment right now. “--the hospital people were super nice anyway!”

 

“I got you out as soon as they let me; god, I hate hospitals! Those  кретины , ‘It’s protocol’, the hell it is!” she slammed her hands on the steering wheel out of frustration.

 

“Tati…” Curt shifted in his seat as she finally lifted her head from her hands, starting the car “they were just trying to do their jobs, you can’t get mad at them for it.” he tried a logical path and the gentlest voice he could afford at the moment.

 

“I know, I know.” she drove out of the parking lot. “I got worried, you’re like that really fragile glass statue my mom always told me not to break!”

 

“Um… thanks?” 

 

“You know what I mean!” she paused, “Are you okay?” she scruffed Curt’s hair up, giving him a small smile.

 

“I’m fine,” he said, slightly shoving her hand away, with a small scoff in return, “You don’t have to worry about me.” He looked away from the barley lit street in front of him and looked at his friend, whose silence he could only interpret as disbelief and doubt. “Seriously, I’m okay!” 

 

“If you say so.” Her response was quiet. Curt knew he hadn’t convinced her, and at the moment, he wasn’t really trying to.

 

Tatiana had insisted on coming into his new apartment, saying she needed to “feel the environment” whatever the hell that meant. She flopped down on his couch as soon as she walked in, and Curt took the opportunity to shove some stray laundry into a hamper.

 

“I’m gonna make myself some coffee, you want some?” He caught Tatiana nodding, making herself right at home in Curt’s living room, “Thanks for picking me up by the way, um, cream? Sugar?” 

 

“Who’s that?” Owen asked from somewhere behind Curt.

 

“I’m okay, I’ll just take it black.” 

 

Curt turned away from her, hearing her click through the channels on his tv. Maybe the volume was loud enough. Maybe he could get away with it.

 

“Tatiana.” He whispered to the empty kitchen.

 

“What? I can’t hear you.” 

 

“Her name. It’s Tatiana.” His voice rising in volume, he flinched when it caught an unintended attention.

 

“Yes?” Tati glanced up from the TV, sitting up a little straighter and taking her feet off of the table before her.

 

“Oh. I wasn’t- are you sure you don’t want creamer or anything?”

 

“Uh, yeah?” 

 

“Okay, just making sure.”

 

“I’m just… going to stop talking” Owen whispered.

 

“Yeah, good idea.” He poured their coffee and walked back to the couch holding two mugs with steam emanating from them; the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the cold space with something Curt wouldn’t call “warmth”... just  _ home _ . Tatiana was watching a wrestling match when he sat down. She took her mug and nodded her head in gratitude, before returning her attention back to the flat-screen in front of her.  

 

“You wanna talk about it?” she asked later, long after the TV was turned off and their mugs were emptied, refilled, emptied and refilled again.

 

“It?” Curt asked. The subjects they could tackle at -- what was it? 2? 3? -- in the morning were as abundant as they were scarce.

 

“Your date? The whole hospital fiasco?” she gave him a halfhearted smile. “For all I care we can talk about the latest Cynthia shenanigans.”

 

“Oh god, don’t even get me started!” Curt laughed. It had been a good couple of weeks since he last heard of his publisher, as she’d had the decency to give him time after he’d moved both houses and cities. However, Curt expected to hear from her soon. “As for the whole hospital bit, I would hardly call it a fiasco; It wasn’t really a big deal, I’m sure I was just dehydrated.”

 

“Curt.” she moved an inch closer. “Tell me what happened. Were you talking to them?” 

 

He considered not telling her, he really did. Knowing how she felt about it, and how she would react, he could already hear everything she had to say about the matter. But then he thought, then who if not her? Who did he have to talk to? The barrier he felt between himself and his psychologist didn’t exist in his relationship with Tati. Her devoted listening never came with a payment or a check from him. And so what if Curt let the optimist in him hope for a different response than what he knew he was going to get?

 

“Uh, yeah.” he tried to speak as clearly as he could, to show confidence. He set his half filled mug on the table and looked for a reaction in Tatiana’s face.

 

Nothing, blank. He didn’t know if that was a good or a bad sign, it could be either for all he knew.

 

“It’s not what you think--” he tried to explain.

 

“Oh? And what exactly _am_ I thinking Curt?” If Tatiana’s harsh tone could cut, Curt would’ve died from blood loss by now.

 

“That I’m making a mistake?”

 

“You are.”

 

“That I’m being stupid?”

 

“You  _ are  _ being stupid!”

 

“This is different, he’s different.”

 

“Oh, so it’s  _ he _ now?” she slammed her mug on the table and leaned back, crossing her arms “You ended up in the hospital again, Curt. How many times am I going to have to check you out of one before you realize that it's always like this.”

 

“He didn’t know what would happen if I talked to him too much, it’s not his fault.”

 

“What about last time? And the time before that? And all the times when we were kids? When will it occur to you that it always ends the same fucking way?” She stared at him, raising her brows, challenging him to defend himself. She was right, she knew it, and so did Curt.

 

Minutes passed in silence, neither said another word. Curt knew that Tatiana was right in her mistrust of any ghost he would come in close contact with, but he also knew that Owen wouldn’t harm him. Of course, he had been wrong before, but that didn’t mean that he was gonna admit it. 

 

“I should go.” Tatiana broke the silence “It’s late.” 

 

“Tati--” Curt started, not knowing what he wanted to say to her. Even if he agreed with her -- which he didn’t -- there wasn’t really anything he could do. He’d just moved and he couldn’t up and leave his apartment.

 

“It’s alright Curt.” She cut him off. “I know you’ll do what you know in your heart to be best. I just hope it doesn’t take you  _ too long _ to get there.” the way she said the words, made Curt feel like ice water had been poured over him; a chilling shiver went up his spine, one he elected and tried to ignore the best he could 

 

“Goodnight Tati.” 

 

“Goodnight Curt, actually, good morning. It’s ten past five.” Curt could hear the hidden amusement in her voice; walking her to the door, he gave her a hug “take care.”

 

“You too.” she pulled away before patting Curt on the shoulder “oh, I almost forgot-” she walked out the door Curt had held open for her “Josh’s been asking how you were, I told him you’d give him a call?” 

 

“Uh… yeah, sure.” Curt ran his fingers through his hair and smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles on his shirt “I’ll… I’ll call him.” 

 

“Okay, great!” Tatiana gave him a bright smile, she walked into the elevator and pressed a button. “Bye.”

 

“Bye.” Curt closed the door and released a deep breath.

 

“She seems nice.” Owen quipped immediately. Curt could see him poking his head out of some door frame as he said that. It almost looked comical in his head; the image brought a smile to his face. 

 

“Did you hear much of that?” He stood up to put the mugs in the sink, feeling his knees buckle, realizing just how tired he was.  

 

“Curt, you have a small apartment and you two weren’t exactly whispering.” He paused, sighing from the other side of the room, and Curt saw the couch dip. “Why didn’t you tell me? That talking wore you out, I mean.”

 

“It’s not an issue if I sleep afterwards, but I didn’t have a chance before meeting up with Josh. Everything is fine, she’s just overreacting. Listen I’m tired, I’m going to bed. I’ll call her tomorrow -- and Josh. Shit, remind me to call Josh.” He turned towards the hallway, turning off the living room light.

 

Owen called out from the darkness. “Curt?”

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“What did Tatiana mean by last time? What happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIVE YAYYYY!!!
> 
> No seriously, I've had a shitload of stuff going on these past few weeks + the good old fashioned writer's block, oops!
> 
> Point is, I'm back from the dead!  
> (Also i have other works in progress which I will start posting once I've gotten them to a certain point!)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a shared work with my very good friend Max.  
> Thanks to our friends on the SAF Discord for being amazing Betas
> 
> Come talk with us @melofthewizards and @Avathoto


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